


The Galactic Descent of the Bronco

by youcancallmecraig (orphan_account)



Category: South Park
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Series, space, twines AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-04-01 23:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4039357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/youcancallmecraig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan Marsh lives a surprisingly okay life in his space junker. A bit mundane, sure, but Stan didn't really expect much. At least Kyle the half-goat cyborg is there with him, and Kenny sometimes does work. Time passes pretty slowly, with only a few incidents here and there. And when a space angel crashes into his ship, Stan is sure it's just going to be "another one of those things." Until the space angel says that he wants to stay on the ship with them for a while, in hiding, which causes a lot of issues for the Bronco and its crew.<br/>[damn thats one bad summary. this is a fic based off the Twines AU by tumblr user cowboybouquet. the whole story idea belongs to them, not me.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teal Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> hello. craig here. south park does not belong to me, it belongs to matt stone and trey parker. this au also does not belong to me, it belongs to tumblr user jackinforthelord. a few specific ideas and planets and stuff were imagined by me, but besides that i am just a sorry person with 0 ideas for themselves. enjoy the story  
> (also: THIS FIRST PART IS AN INTRODUCTION. THATS WHY ITS SO SHORT. THIS WILL BE A SERIES. THANKS)

Ethereal beings weren't that hard to find in space, especially not in this part of the galaxy, and yet somehow Stan was still surprised to see a beautiful, glowing teal wing stuck in hull of his ship.

The wing was fluttering slightly, and gold blood dripped down the sides of the ceiling and onto the floor, where Lady Nibbleston clopped around and tracked the stuff everywhere, and Stan just KNEW Kyle would have a pissy fit about it. Stan had just woken up, his fingernails scratching the scruff of his half-shaven beard, and he wasn't sure whether he should be more worried about the being itself trapped in the ship, or the fact that it's blood was starting to soak into the ship and was making the wires glow. Stan could not decide. It was much too early in the morning to deal with monsters from heaven crashing into the ship, and besides, Kyle would know what to do with it, probably. Kyle knew most things. So, even though it has to be early in the morning on everybody's internal clocks, Stan howls Kyle's name as loud as he possibly can. 

Stan hears Kyle before he sees him, the clip-clops of his hooves echoing down the hallways of the Bronco. Stan quirks the side of his mouth when he hears him slamming against the walls, stumbling because he just woke up. The mumbled 'what's going on' and 'this better be good Stan or I swear to god' come to a halt as he sees the wing. The lights in his eyes flicker back to their regular green, and for a minute they just stand there. Stan is still holding his "Number #2 Dad" cup, but now he's gripping it with both hands like he'll have to beat the hell out of someone with it. 

"Goddamnit," Kyle says, half-sighing. "Out of all the times something huge can crash into this minuscule hump of metal, its at two in the fu-"

"Oh, hello!" a voice abruptly calls out, but it's not from above or even from their level; the voice is all around them, embracing cracks in the ship and humming in the metal floors. "I'm real sorry to ask for this, but would you fellas mind getting my wing out?"


	2. Golden Wires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey howdy. just like last time, none of this belongs to me, south park belongs to matt the trey and stone the parker, au belongs to jackinforthelord. BUT SPEAKING OF JACKINFORTHELORD. THEY MADE SOME HELLA ART FOR THIS ALREADY AND I AM SO PUMPED THIS GIVES ME STRENGTH. LINKS FOR THINGS RIGHT HERE:  
> http://jackinforthelord.tumblr.com/post/120286325120/hello-im-the-anon-from-a-bit-ago-i-just-posted  
> this features tons of dialogue and a few head canons of mine, hope thats alright!

"Kyle, I really think we shouldn't hurt this thing. Honestly."

"Stan, this isn't really the time for your All-Creatures-Have-Lives-And-We-Need-To-Protect-Them speech. I don't want to do it, either, but we have to! We're probably losing air right now as we speak. Actually, we should both stop speaking. We're wasting oxygen."

"Look, man, I understand what you're saying, but Christ, do you really have to cut the poor things wing off? It kind of needs that, probably."

"You're supposed to be scrubbing the floors. Are you scrubbing the floors, Kenny? No, you're running your mouth."

"Kyle, I can scrub the floors and run my mouth at the same time. I don't exert all my energy into speaking." 

"Stop being a smartass, I'm trying to focus!"

"Excuse me? I kind of agree with the people down there. I really think cutting off my wing is a bad idea." the voice cut in, vibrating through the ship. 

"You shut up. You have no say in this."

"Kyle," Stan sighed, looking up at him. Kyle was hanging from the ceiling on a rope, his hooves next to where the wing was to balance. He still didn't have pants on, giving Kenny and Stan below a good view of a furry goat butt and a fuzzy tail swishing back and forth (which Kenny almost commented on when he came in until he saw Kyle holding the knife in his hand). Though Kyle was pretending to be calm, his cyborg-wiring was tinged with a bit of red, and he hadn't even bothered to fully put on his jacket so it was swinging off his arm as Kyle held the rope and knife in one hand.

"Boy howdy, do I feel woozy. Am I loosing a lot of blood?" the voice said again, tone wavering slightly. Stan frowned; the gold blood covered the inside of the ship, and it was absorbent to EVERYTHING, meaning that Kyle's mass of fuzzy red hair was half-dyed gold as well as his clothes. Kenny scrubbed furiously at the floors, cursing under his breath about how many baths he was going to have to take, why did he even sleep in only boxers anyway, why didn't he put on pants at least when he came down. Even Lady Nibbleston was looking alarmed at the dried blood on her hooves.

"Yes, you are loosing a lot of blood," Kyle hissed, and then abruptly yelled, "Stan, catch my jacket!"

"Wha-?" was the only thing Stan got out before a jacket smacked him full in the face, his coffee slipping out of his hands. He clawed it off and looked, gaping, up at Kyle, who looked back at him incredulously. 

"What the hell, Kyle!" Stan screamed, hands now coated in angel blood.

"I told you to catch it! I gave you a warning!" he yelled.

"Oh, god, the stuff's on my FACE, Kyle, why…" Stan groaned, scraping at his face until he considered that only made more blood cover his cheeks.

"Oh no! It must be terrible for you, Marsh! Blood on your face! Terrible!" Kenny spat, gesturing to his golden-coated body.

"Yeah, um, sorry about that. My blood kind of, y'know, sticks to things. And stays that way." tittered the angel creature. Stan saw that, where wing met ship, there was a mass of dried gold blood. Stan's eyes widened, and he yelled, "Kyle, hold on!"

"What?!" Kyle said through the knife between his teeth, and Stan winced. The way Kyle's teeth gridded against the knife, and with the blood smattering his freckled-spotted arms, he looked like a killer. An adorable killer, with no pants.

"Kyle, just think! The thing is stuck. Its blood practically glued its wing to the ship. Even if you cut it off, it'll still be stuck in the ship until somebody can get it out, and its body might still be partially glued to the ship. We should just land, get some help somewhere." Stan said gently, and it was silent for just a moment, the only sound being Lady Nibbleston trying and failing to lick her hooves clean of gold. 

Kyle sighed, hand falling limply. "Okay, Stan. We can try that, if it will make you happy." 

The voice breathed in relief. "Oh, thank goodness. I thought y'all we're gonna chop off my wing for sure." Kyle rubbed his eyes, dusting some blood across them, and when he opened them again Kyle was struck by how nice he looked, even though the bottom of his eyes were rimmed with black circles, even though it was 3:45 in the morning. 

"Can you help me get down, dude?" he asked, pulling lightly at the rope. Stan beamed and tugged him down, letting Kyle use his arm as a leverage. He trotted over to where his jacket was and put it on, not bothering to button it up all the way. 

"Can I get some of your coffee?" Kyle asked, looking back at Stan with big glowing eyes. 

"Yeah, dude, let me just- oh, dammit." Stan stared sadly at the spilled coffee on the ground, picking up his mug to search for any cracks (not that it would have mattered if it had; Stan still would have used it). "The coffee's everywhere, and that was our last batch. Fantastic." 

From the side, Stan heard Kenny yell, "Oh, well that's just fine! More stains to clean. I can't wait to smother my body in coffee." 

"We don't need that mental image, Kenny," Kyle replied. 

"Cut him some slack. He got less sleep then the both of us, man, he's probably exhausted." Stan placed a hand on Kyle's shoulder, looking at him sympathetically. "Kenny, you can stop trying to clean the floors. It's not coming out anytime soon." The statement was met by a floor scrubber feebly thrown in their direction. 

"So, wait- just to make this clear, you all are NOT going to cut off my wing, correct? For sure?" the angel said worriedly, as if it hadn't just heard the entirety of the conversation they had been having. 

Stan nudged Kyle, giving him a look, and he sighed, a little spark flickering from his wires, and then walked over to the wing. "Listen, um. Space angel. I'm sorry for nearly killing you. Kind of a douchebag move." 

"It's alright, buddy. It happens all the time." it replied, and you could almost here the smile in its voice. Stan couldn't help but be curious what kind of galactic creature has feathery teal wings and a slight Southern accent, but thought it'd be rude to ask. 

"Wow. Really? Well, alright. Would you mind if I asked your name?" Kyle asked, moving his hand through his tangled mass of hair, forcibly polite.

"My n- oh! You mean my title! Well, my title is Leezempoll Burriezichel Stohchivillik, but most humans say my name is a mouthful, so sometimes I'm called Butters." it hummed. Butters's real name didn't sound like much of anything, more just strangle clicks and slurs of the mouth, so Kyle nodded and said, "Well, Butters it is. Hi, Butters." An echo of Hey, Butters followed that from the floor where Kenny lay, his eyes half closed, the swirling marks on his body glowing a dark violet. 

Stan walked up to the wing and patted it gently. "Welcome aboard the Bronco, Butters."


	3. Ashen Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> copyright! south park belongs to the two demons of hell, and this au belongs to jackinforthelord HWO MADE MORE FANTASTIC ART….  
> http://were-going-on-a-trip.tumblr.com/post/120553570776/can-u-draw-a-dangling-kyle-with-a-knife-furry  
> http://were-going-on-a-trip.tumblr.com/post/120553520396/jackinforthelord-sandiegocrosswalk-this  
> http://were-going-on-a-trip.tumblr.com/post/120553453551/jackinforthelord-the-galactic-descent-of-the  
> they're trying to kill me i swear…  
> edit: just fixed up a ton of stuff in here. just minor errors, but they were obvious and annoyed the hell out of me.

Kenny must have looked ridiculous, wearing Kyle's old goggles and no clothes, hands covered in teal feathers and an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth. Kenny said that the feathers covered his hands so the control panel wouldn't be (more) clogged with blood, but that was about the only part of his attire that he had an excuse for, and Kyle had stated that if Vagabonds stopped their ship to loot them, they would think they were on a ship of space prostitutes. Almost immediately after the prostitutes comment, Stan pointed out that he, too, looked like a prostitute, and Kyle half sprinted back to his quarters to throw on some clothes. He always was the one to clean himself up to look presentable, while Kenny and Stan always looked a little bit like, well, prostitutes. They both agreed on the fact that a limited amount of clothing was the best choice of outfit, which horrified Kyle, who drew the line at the two of them sleeping naked.

"Kenny, what planet are we even going to, anyway?" Stan asked, playing quietly with Lady Nibbleston's fur as she dozed beside him. He wasn't planning on changing unless he had to, like maybe if the planet they went to had something against red slippers dotted with blood.

"Planet Dryad." Kenny swiped at the screen and a hologram of a planet came up. It was mostly covered with ocean, but that was about the only color on it. Dark cities peppered its land, and there was something like clouds hanging over it, but less dense, and much darker.

Stan frowned, tilting his head slightly. "Is that smoke?"

"Yeah, isn't it nasty? The whole thing used to be inhabited by these wild sea creatures, all different kinds, until some douche came and took it over, made it an industrial paradise. The emperor is a being made purely of black smoke, and when he brought his people over, the whole planet got whacked, smoke everywhere, whole city started smoking a ton themselves just to get used to it, and that just made things worse." Kenny shook his head, eyes sad. "The only natives who survived are the Dryad's, themselves, and only because they never sleep and work crazy hours."

Stan sighed. "Of course the crazy and sad planet is the one we have to go to - speaking of, HEY, BUTTERS!"

"Hello, Stan! What can I do for you?" Butters sounded exactly the same, which was kind of terrifying, considering that the Bronco was traveling at near-hyperspace levels and he was outside the ship.

"Nothing, dude. Just wondering if you were alright." he mumbled. "Is it really the norm to smoke there? That sucks."

"Oh, yeah. Wait, you're going to look like a huge outsider if you're not smoking. Here," Kenny said, taking out the unlit cigarette in his mouth and tossing it to Stan. "Just use this. You don't actually have to light it, it's like 4:30 in the morning, none of the locals'll be out looking for non-smoking foreigners."

Stan breathed out in relief, flicking it around his fingers. He hadn't smoked since his teens and wasn't planning on starting again. "Thanks, man, I don't have a-" he began, but was cut off by Kyle smacking the cig out of his hands. Stan stared at his empty hand for a moment, tired brain not quite processing what just happened, then looked at Kyle, who had the most disgusted look on his face.

"UNSANITARY!" he howled, pressing a pack of unopened cigarettes into Stan's hands. Kyle looked very nice, though - he had attempted to clean himself off, and his skin still sparkled in the fluorescent light of the ship. His pants were a little lopsided, but with the scruff of barely-visable red hair Kyle sported on his face, that just encouraged the look of a small irritated dad he had going. "UNSANITARY, and DISGUSTING. An absolute SPREAD of GERMS, WHILE WE HAVE AN INTERGALACTIC ANGEL ON OUR SHIP."

"I don't think Butters cares if I hold an unlit cigarette Kenny had. He's literally stuck in our ship, bleeding everywhere. He's probably more worried about that." Stan said while picking the cigarette back up, unable to help a grin from eating at his face.

"It doesn't matter! It doesn't even matter if we're going to Dryad! We know Kenny is a different species from you, he could be carrying some germs that could permanently d-"

"Kyle, would you kindly take out the stick that's up your ass for a moment, we're about to land." Kenny said nonchalantly, and indeed they were, the Bronco rattling back and forth as it plunked slowly to the ground. He looked back at the two, his blue eyes magnified significantly in the dusty goggles he had. "Don't go pissing anyone off, you hear? I'm going to stay here with Butters and watch the ship."

"Fine," Kyle spat, grabbing Stan's hand and stomping towards the doors. "I don't even know if there's anybody who can dislodge an angel from a junker ship, but WHATEVER, we'll TRY OUR BEST, I suppose!"

"That's all I ever asked from you boys." Kenny said, lowering his voice an octave lower and giving it the proud, fatherly tone, then laughed. "Christ. I can't be a dad. Well, I CAN be, just not the type I was-"

"GOODBYE, KENNY!" Kyle yelled at the closing doors, Stan biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. The metal doors creaked shut, and it was oddly silent for a minute as they stood there, eyes adjusting to the dim light. Soon, they were able to make out the rest of the outline of the ship against the dark grey clouds, seeing a glowing wing appear from behind the ship. It was even larger than Stan had thought, and whatever kind of creature Butters was, his wingspan easily trumped the Bronco.

"Fellas?" his voice called from the back. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, it's just Stan and Kyle. We're going to go around and assess the damage." called Stan, but Butters frantically yelled "No!"

Before they could say anything, Butters explained, "I'm really sorry, it's just - well, my kind doesn't like anybody looking at them unless they have to. Me especially. We're all a bit, er, self - conscious. So could you please just wait until you come with somebody to get me out?"

Stan opened his mouth, but Kyle put a hand gently on Stan's arm. "It's alright, man. We'll be back hopefully soon and we'll get you out of this mess."

"Well, alright." Butters sounded relieved that they weren't coming over, and Stan saw his beautiful wing relax slightly. "Thank you both."

Kyle soon dragged Stan off the boarding path, still gripping his arms so he wouldn't go back and investigate, and to the small line where shops were up. The ground was faded cobblestone, broken and badly made, and Kyle had difficulty walking without getting a hoof under a stone. There were empty stands alined to their lefts and rights, barely visible with the lack of sunlight. Stan glanced around and saw not a single creature outside, nobody looking through the windows of the crumpled buildings on the sides, no lights illuminating the floating lanterns, nothing. He was almost concerned that Kenny was screwing with them, that this whole terrible smoky planet was not actually Dryad. Waving some stray smoke away from his face, he placed a cigarette in his mouth, sneering slightly at the tang. The thought of lighting it again made a shiver of disgust wrack his body.

A squeeze on his arm reminded Stan that Kyle was still holding on, and he looked up at him with concern written on his face. "What's the matter? Is it the smoke?"

"I guess so. I mean, I don't have anything against people who do smoke, I just - it's everywhere. It's everywhere and it smells nasty." he shuddered, looking down. "And it doesn't help that this place is something straight out of a horror film."

"Don't be such a baby." Kyle scoffed, but it was said gently, and he pressed himself closer to Stan for comfort (which made his heart start backflipping like a friggin' gymnast). His ears twitched slightly after a minute, and he asked, "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" said Stan, immediately jumping into a defensive pose, one of his arms covering Kyle and the other reaching for his laser as he stood, listening (it was a stupid idea to try and protect Kyle, and Stan wasn't quite sure why he made up the decision to try then and there. Just this morning Kyle was ready and willing to hang from a ceiling and cut off an angel from the ship). After a moment, he did hear it, a few soft notes of music a few meters ahead. They started walking again, and the music got louder the more empty market stands they passed, so that they could just hear the lyrics.

'-darling it's better, down where it's wetter, take it from me-'

The music came from the only occupied stand there, a smaller one with a sign that read "Olden Earthen Human Products - Authentic!". The table was littered with small trinkets - a rusted necklace with a locket on it, a device that was similar to a walkie-talkie but had no screen, only a dial and a compartment in the back that read 'tape holder' - and the song was coming from an extremely old box that stood front and center on the table, playing a sort of cartoon with a clawed creature singing. A short, blue creature was fiddling with the back of the device, purple tongue sticking out of their mouth as well as an electronic pipe that spewed bubbles. They had short grey hair turning silver at the ends, where it just touched their chin, and wore no clothes, their chest and stomach whiter than the rest of their purple-spotted body. They had fins where ears would usually be, and they wiggled as they connected wires that were attached to the black and white screen. They glanced up at Stan and Kyle, Stan staring entranced at the cartoon, and held up a finger, saying, "Hold on."

Before Kyle could say anything, the creature stood up and banged on the box, which flickered to bright fluorescent colors, and let out a triumphant "finally!" They then turned to Stan and Kyle, gesturing to the small table and said, "Hello, and welcome to the A'thentic Human Prod'cts Stand."

"What's that red thing?" Stan immediately asked, pointing to the screen. He was absolutely fascinated - what the hell kind of cartoon was this? Why was everything singing? - and wanted to possibly buy the weird box, and maybe the entirety of the stand. The creature leaned over and glanced at the TV, waiting until the red thing came up again.

"Oh. That thing. In the movie, they sometimes call it a 'Sebastian.' I think it was something on Earth a while back." they said, voice surprisingly monotone, then looked back at them. "Do you g'ys need anything?" They had a slight accent, skipping over the 'u' in 'guys'.

Kyle tried to speak again, but Stan grabbed something from the stand and shoved it towards the Shopkeeper, grinning. "Can we buy this small metal thing? How much does it cost?" he asked excitedly, and Kyle yanked his hand away from Stan's arm and growled out, "Jesus Christ, Stan."

The Shopkeeper glanced at it, glowing purple eyes moving over the metal box with seemingly no interest. "Sure. I dunno what it is, but it's real, I have papers and stuff if you don't believe me." they said, glancing at Kyle with a small smirk on their face. Kyle narrowed his eyes, and said "Thanks, but we were just wondering if there were any expert mechanics around here, anybody who could - hypothetically - get an enormous angel out of a small junker ship?"

Stan tore himself away from the movie for a second to gauge their reaction, but they were expressionless. "Yeah. I know somebody who could help with that hypothetical situation." They rolled their eyes. "There's a person down there, I think his shops open, probably."

"Can you tell us exactly where it is, please?" Kyle asked, obviously annoyed at how slow they were being. They pointed down the last few rows of stands.

"Just go straight down then take a left, and you'll be right in front of Tucker's Mechanical Emporium. He's the only one who can help you with your hypothetical angel, so be nice."


	4. Cobalt Tools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: I DID IT IT REUPLOADED AHAHAHAHAHAHH  
> ITS LIKE 1 AM I DID IT HELL YES  
> im back you memes  
> fun fact: the chapter title is not about mechanical tools, but in fact, stan and craig, who are both blue tools

"Tucker's Mechanical Emporium sounds like the name of a terrible movie." was the first thing Kyle said when they left the little stand. After thanking the shopkeeper - whose name, they had learned, was Majora - for their information, Stan proceeded to buy the stout metal device with the square holes, as well as a small, dark purple purse he slung around his shoulder. Stan had never felt happier with that little purple purse thumping against the holster of his laser. Kyle had even commented on how lovely it looked on him, with a smile on his face, which made Stan want to have his children. He was careful not to dust it with the golden angel blood on his hands, and he was delicately fiddling with the worn strap as Kyle talked.

"I think it sounds like a good movie. Like, so good it's bad, y'know?" Stan replied, and glanced up from his purse to look for said Emporium. Majora had said the place looked 'sad, tall, and distinctly terrifying." Stan pointed out that this entire watery horror land was sad, tall, and distinctly terrifying, but they swore up and down that the place would be noticeable.

"I wonder if this Tucker person just looked around his shop, with all the mechanical whats-its and whatever, and was like, 'you know, the Big - Ass Mechanical Store Full Of Whats - Its just doesn't match this feel. The word emporium sounds really professional. Let's throw that in somewhere.'"

"You're making the person sound like a total tool, and we haven't even met them yet."

"Listen, I'm slightly doubtful of anybody who associates them self with the word 'emporium.' It sounds like a word that old people use."

Stan couldn't help but snicker. "Jesus, it does, doesn't it?" He put on his best old man voice. "Hello naughty children, welcome to the Emporium."

Kyle burst out laughing, gripping his sides like he was trying to hold himself together, sputtering at some points that "that wasn't even that FUNNY". Stan beamed triumphantly, twiddling with the straps of his purse yet again. Kyle's laugh was the only noise that echoed through the desolate streets, and his wires started to glow even brighter, illuminating the ground around them. Stan looked at him, feeling like something was taking off in his chest, feeling like something inexplicably important was happening, but he couldn't explain what.

When Kyle finished, he glanced at him, quirking one of his eyebrows. "What are you grinning at?" he said, crossing his arms, but his wires didn't dim down in the slightest, so Stan just laughed and shook his head.

"I've never heard you laugh so hard at one of my jokes. It's endearing."

Kyle blinked and looked down, embarrassed. "It's not endearing, it's, like, four AM. Everything is either incredibly funny or incredibly irritating. Shut up. Change the subject."

"Alright, dude, um." Stan looked up at the floating lanterns, still not lit in the slightest. "Do you think this guy can even deal with our situation? With Butters stuck in the ship and whatever? Or do you think that Majora person was screwing with us?"

"They seemed pretty legitimate," Kyle said, yawning a little. The gold that was on his eyelids had trailed up to his eyebrows, looking more like terribly applied eye shadow than eyeliner now. "I mean, you never know, they could have been screwing with us. I just don't see any reason why they would have to."

"People can be dicks, Kyle. Someone might mistake us for lost prostitutes, trying to - hey," he cut himself off, pointing just to the left of Kyle. "Is that it?"

The building was actually accurate to Majora's description. It was tall, but narrow, seemingly looming over them as old boards poked out from it here and there. A window was hanging, half off its hinges, showing an illuminated room with smoke puffing out of it. Splatters of paint showed the place had gone through at least three unfinished renovations, all of which included a different color to paint the shop. It did seem very unorganized and broken down (but that was like every other building here, so it wasn't very abnormal), and Stan could see how one might find it "terrifying", but the little neon sign out front that read "Tucker's Mechanical Emporium" in messily assembled letters ruined the vibe.

"Well," Kyle said, and then stopped right there, most likely holding off an incredibly salty remark about the state of the place. He had always been more inclined to neat and tidy places, with everything in its order. Today had already been a hellish amount of blood and smoke and crooked sidewalks, Kyle's absolute nightmare, and Stan admired the fact that he tried to tone down the salt a little.

"Come on, let's go in. It looks open." Stan gently took Kyle's hand, leading him towards the door. He reached for the doorknob, turning it, and promptly ripped it right off.

"Huh. Um, shit." he said. The two of them stared at the doorknob, not quite sure what to do with it. "Lemme just," Stan mumbled, shoving the doorknob in his purse, next to his Square Thing. "There we go, perfect."

"Oh my god, Stan."

"What else was I supposed to do?!"

A faint voice was heard from inside the shop. "The door is terrible, everybody knows it, just come in."

Kyle stopped Stan's hand from pushing open the door (most likely to prevent him from breaking anything else), instead pushing it open himself. They were met by a wave of thick red smoke, and they coughed and waved their hands in front of their faces. When Stan opened his eyes, he was a bit disappointed. All he saw was assorted metal junk hanging from the walls, scattered on the floor, and on the desk in front of them. A couch was rested in the corner, and a short, maroon man was resting on the busted cushions. His slick hair was spiked messily in different directions, and he was puffing on a pipe, eyes still half closed. Stan was unimpressed, but glancing down at Kyle, he saw that he was ecstatic, practically drinking in the scene.

"Dude, STAN. Whoever runs this place must be rich or a really excellent thief, because these are some of the best tools in this universe!" Kyle, forgetting his pride for a second, clopped over and knelt down in front of a particularly shiny metal object. Stan was unfazed; he wasn't a mechanic, nor was he as fascinated with tools like Kyle was. Turning to the red guy, he said, "Um, sorry for bothering you, but we kind of need your help. Right away. Are you the owner?"

"Kinda." muttered the guy, blinking lazily. "I sell stuff sometimes."

"Well, one of the shop keepers out there - well, the only one open, really - said that this place handled not only mechanics and such, but also some stuff about galactic creatures? Getting into your, um, things?"

The guy's eyes shot open and he scrambled up, pulling a gun from the couch and grasping it tightly. Stan stumbled backwards, so startled by the fact that this tiny man just pulled out a gun that all he said was "Dude, can we not right now, it's way too early for this." Kyle turned around and hissed sharply, stuttering out, "What the hell?! Why do you have a gun?!"

"We're not in the business anymore. Stop asking us to "take care" of creatures, and tell your boss to stick it up his ass." The man's demeanor changed instantly, and he looked downright deadly, staring at Stan with an unreadable expression, even if he only barely reached Stan's waist.

"What business? What are you talking about?? We have a galactic angel stuck in our ship and we can't get it out!" Stan yelled, then cursed at himself. Way to give away your position as soon as you step inside, Marsh, good going.

The guy blinked. "A galactic - oh. My god. I'm sorry." He pressed the gun back into the couch, and he looked at them both, panicked. "Jesus, I'm so so sorry. I - I didn't - Christ, we had another job, Craig and I, and - damn it, we're not dangerous, or illegal, or anything, we - fucking, CRAIG!" he scrambled right over the desk, running into different walls before turning into the back room.

Kyle and Stan were both silent, until Kyle exhaled slightly. "Stan. This was not a good idea. We should leave."

"No, dude. They can help us, whoever this...red guy and this other guy are. I think they might be drug dealers or something, but maybe they can help. The red guy must have made a mistake. Or something."

"He just threatened pulled a gun out on you and rambled on about his 'business'! We can't trust these people!"

"You think we're drug dealers?"drawled out someone from the desk. "I'm offended, Broflovski."

Kyle whipped his head around at breakneck speed to see a large jaguar man in a poncho leaning on the front of the desk. He was sneering, looking right at Kyle, and his eyes were humming with an unnatural blue light. Everything about him seemed to be themed a cobalt color, from his hat to his ridiculous poncho. Even his tongue was glowing powder blue, and it flicked around his teeth. The red guy was peeking out from behind the jaguar, looking nervous. Stan shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably; usually he was comfortable with large animal species, but this one looked miffed, and could also eat his entire torso if he wanted to.

He turned to Kyle, furrowing his eyebrows. "Kyle, do you know him?" but Kyle was already strutting forward, tail poofing up slightly. His fists were clenched at his sides, a forced smile on his face.

"Craig!" he half yelled, smacking his palms on the desk. "It sure has been a while!" The jaguar was grinning at him cheekily, swinging his tail back and forth, and Stan could tell almost immediately that this Craig guy, whoever he was, was extremely thirsty for Kyle, just absolutely parched, which made Stan vaguely uncomfortable, even though everybody and their mother are thirsty for Kyle.

"It certainly has been. How have you and your group of ragtag assholes been doing?" Craig said nonchalantly, flicking black hair out of his eyes. It occurred to Stan that maybe he should be offended by the "ragtag assholes" comment, seeing as he was apart of said ragtag assholes, but he found he didn't really have an argument against it, so he just said, "So. I'm assuming you two know each other."

"Yeah, apparently," the red guy muttered, face twisted into a frown. Kyle let out a deep breath, closed his eyes, and then looked at Stan. His glowing wires were spitting sparks everywhere, a sure sign that he was agitated.

"We've known each other for a few years. We've gotten in a few...skirmishes before. Together." Kyle says, words tight and stretched, so unlike him. The tension is practically choking them, and Stan finds himself getting nervous, like maybe they shouldn't have done this, like maybe something being done this early in the morning is a bad idea, but he doesn't want Butters to die, so he clears his throat.

"Can we catch up, and, whatever, later? Or at least on the way back to our ship? Because we have something we need help with, and we heard you can help us." Stan isn't a big fan of getting between Kyle and his enemies, and he's trying hard not to stutter, because really, Craig is pretty scary.

Craig sits up and tears his eyes away from Kyle for the first time since they saw him. "Ah, right. My bad." He spreads out his hands. "I hear you have an angel stuck in your ship?"


	5. Silver Doorknobs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's late and I couldn't sleep, have this filler chapter just before stuff goes down.  
> Thank you, Jackinforthelord, again for everything.  
> Also it's my birthday on July 13th!! Please send me birthday wishes, itd be much appreciated! :V

In these situations - with Kyle's past lovers, or admirers, or just people who wanted to bang him - Stan tended to panic. He didn't mean to, no - he had nothing against his spouse's past relationships, and was happy that they all continued to be friends (with certain exceptions). None of it was Kyle's fault; Stan was just prone to departing into a part of his mind where his uncertain, hellish descent was - where he knew he wasn't good enough for Kyle, where he thought that Kyle might not love him - and he was most prone to this when around the group of Kyle's said admirers (or past lovers, or things who wanted to bang him) were around. And this situation with the large jaguar man, with his tails flicking around Kyle's calves, where the conversation went from business to memories of a fight between them to a tense conversion on personal matters, Stan was starting to panic. So he did what he always did: thought of something else. Something that didn't have a lot to do with what was happening, but had enough to do with the situation that Stan could keep mildly focused.

The topic Stan chose was what to do with the doorknob in his purple purse.

His first thought was to give it to Kyle - which was stupid as hell, what would Kyle do with it? Stan knew what Kyle would do with it, Kyle would look at Stan funny, Craig would make a snide comment about Stan being a cowboy or something, and Kyle would beam Craig in the head with the doorknob. Giving the doorknob to Kyle was a stupid option. His second option was to give it to Craig, which was an even more stupid decision. What would Craig do with the doorknob? Craig didn't have any pockets, he only had a frayed poncho, a floppy hat, and a body full of thirst. Craig would make a snide comment about how Stan was a cowboy or something, and then Kyle would beam Craig in the head with a doorknob. Both outcomes were the same. It didn't matter whose hand Stan awkwardly placed the doorknob into, each scenario ended with Kyle beaming Craig in the head with a doorknob. 

So Stan turned to Clyde. Did Clyde have pockets? He wasn't sure if Clyde was even qualified for wearing clothing. All he had on was a pair of boxers and a single sock, and the boxers were too big for him, so he kept having to pull them up. But Clyde - Stan couldn't tell if he was nice, he was absolutely more laid back, he had said only a few words to him and that was in a moment of misunderstanding - Clyde majored in the subject of Probably Not Being A Dick. He seemed like the kind of guy who would hold the broken doorknob of his shop somewhat willingly. 

In the end, Stan decided that it was his duty to hold the doorknob in his purple purse. After all, he was the one to have broken the doorknob anyway, and the only one with pockets who also would not harm anyone with said doorknob. Around the time he made this decision, he also overheard part of the conversation that was happening between Craig and Kyle.

"- now this, I couldn't have imagined." Craig was saying, nonchalantly. Kyle was looking at him like he was ready to just completely deck him, but he still replied. "What couldn't you have imagined?"

"Oh. nothing. Just the situation you're in currently. With your, ah. Job."

"What do you mean, with my job? It's a perfectly fine job. I like my job."

"Well,firstly, you had to come to ME for help, and you're a mechanic. So you've got something you can't deal with on your hands, whether it be this "galactic space angel" that you have in your ship or…something else."

Kyle looked like he was going to explode, his red hair looking like a forest file in the dim outside light. "Are you implying that there's something that I couldn't handle - MECHANICAL WISE - on my own ship?"

Craig shrugged, flicking hair out of his face. "You did mention how many of the tools in my little ragtag shop were things that you didn't have, that were very expensive? That you maybe couldn't afford?"

"Ah. Um," Stan cleverly interjected, feeling more and more uncomfortable. Stan only knew a little about Kyle's family situation, but what he did know was that Kyle was very wealthy, from old pictures and whispered memories in the dead of the night. He wasn't sure what Kyle's reason was for taking a job as a space junker, but he knew it was personal.

Craig turned toward Stan. "Oh, I'm sorry, would you like to add something to this exchange? I barely even noticed you were there, Mr. Marsh."

Stan bit the inside of his cheek. He just loved feeling useless and pathetic, especially in the eyes of someone who could eat him.

Kyle's wires went red, and his voice dipped dangerously low. "Don't speak to my husband like that."

Craig glanced back at Kyle, raising his eyebrows. "Oh, he's your husband now, is he? You weren't too keen on that fact a few minutes ago wh-"

"Craig," Clyde interrupted. He was staring at him with a scowl on his face. "That's enough."

Stan half expected Craig to demolish Clyde in a bloody spectacle, but the Jaguar just inhaled and sighed, not saying another word. Kyle's wires dimmed back to pale green, and they continued to walk, this time in silence. 

Stan bent down and whispered to Clyde, "How the fresh hell did you manage that?"

He let out a breathy laugh, looking laid back again, and replied, "I'm his boss."

Stan looked back up and couldn't help but exhale in relief. "Oh, would you look at that! We're at the Bronco!" He felt oddly happy that everything was still in place; even Butters and his fluttering wing felt familiar.

"Hello, Butters! We came with help!" Kyle yelled, breaking the moment of silence.

"Aw, really! Thank you guys!" Butters was obviously relieved that they had come back, and he started to glow a little brighter.

"Would you mind if we came around to see you?" Craig called out to him.

"Well, um. Sure, I guess. Just don't be expectin' something grand. You guys come on back."


	6. Cosmic Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS TOOK ME THREE DAYS!!!!  
> six chapters in and i just realized from character profiles that butters is more green than blue. the only reason I'm not changing it is because I'm six chapters in and this is butters introduction, so butters is still a stark blue contrast against the green sunrise. also butters is a huge part of this story even though he's barely talked about in the actual twines au??? this really is a based fanfic  
> the name of this chapter and the color of butters's eyes are both a reference to the color of the universe, cosmic latte. thats also why i described his eyes as 'white beige' which sounds kind of weird, but thats what every wikipedia and news article described the color as, so i had to go with it. i cheated with the colors titles, jack, I'm so sorry  
> butters still goes by male pronouns btw…for now. and i guess it would have been better for kenny to ask what butters's pronouns were, but in this case i think its okay  
> also the day i emerged to welcome this pitiful earth is on july 13th! birthday wishes give me life!

Butters was a stark contrast against the green sunrise, and he looked like the morning sky was painted onto his feathered body. His tail feathers were kissing the ground, the tips a shimmering beryl, and he didn't even seem to have feet. He had not two wings, but six, and the moment the group stepped around the back of the ship they curled around his body like a cocoon. There were two that swept around the lower half of his body, and the largest ones were sprouting from his back, hiding slender arms in the folds. The others floated around his face, which he took longer to have covered, and they caught a glimpse of his eyes, a swirling, pupil-less light show of a white beige color. His hurt wing was glued to the ship, and his blood crept down the left side of his body like golden constellations. 

"I'm awfully sorry, guys," Butters mumbled from behind his wing, feathers curling tighter around himself. "My stupid wing in your ship, now you have to see me, golly moses, this sure is a bad day for all of us."

To Stan's surprise, Craig was the one who spoke up first. "You're beautiful," was all he said, stating just pure facts. Kyle and Stan both nodded; this creature, this cosmic being, half of his body practically glued to an old junker, was something incomprehensibly more than any of them. Butter's mouth opened slightly, and then shut, as if rethinking what he was going to say.

Clyde was the one to get into action, snapping out of his sleepy demeanor at once and practically bouncing over to Butters. The contrast between them was laughable, and Clyde barely reached Butters's tail feathers. Nonetheless, he gripped his hips and grinned up at Butters. "Good morning, fine being! I'm Clyde, the guy who helps other guys get out of weird ass situations. Just like the one you're in now! What's your name, and what species are you, please?"

"Um, I'm called Butters," he replied timidly. "I'm a seraphim, basically."

"Yes, we can see that, Butters. But what species are you?" asked Clyde, patiently. 

"Um. Well. None of us. Really know."

"Not to be rude, dude, but shouldn't your species have given itself a name when it first popped into existence?" Kyle cut in. Stan put his arm on Kyle's shoulder, because that probably was a rude thing to say, especially to a being so shy it covered itself up when you saw it. 

As Clyde started to strut around Butters, assessing the damage, Butters replied, "We just go by whatever everybody else calls us. Isn't that what everyone does?"

A voice yelled something from inside the ship, and Butters cocked his head. "Kenny says that that's what his species did, and now they have an established name, and he says to tell Kyle that nobody calls him a satyr, they just call him a goat man, so that shows how much species titles matter."

"Kenny, if you're going to insult me, do it to my face!" Kyle yelled towards the ship. "And we don't need his species title to identify him or whatever, we need it so that these assholes can get Butters out while trying not to hurt him and using any of his advantages to assist them in doing so!" He muttered under his breath, "Dumbass." which was then met by the door of the ship beginning to clank open.

"Kyle, shut up, Clyde's trying to work." Craig reached out his arm, palm forward, and a sort of portal opened. Craig reached his hand inside, rustling around, and then yelled at Clyde, "What tools do you need?"

Clyde was now sitting up where Butters's wing met the ship, and he replied, "Just the standard kit, please. Stan, would you mind handing, or throwing, that kit up to me?"

"Sure, dude." Craig yanked a kit from the portal and tossed it to Stan, who caught it with fumbling fingers. A sudden thought occurred to him, and he turned back to Craig. "Hey, can that portal hold anything?"

Craig withdrew his hand and sneered at Stan. "What do you think, Marsh? It's a fucking inter-dimmensional space portal, yes, it can hold absolutely anything." He had barely finished his sentence when a silver doorknob went flying through the entrance of the portal, clanging against something as it fell through the very mechanisms of time and space. Craig stared at the portal, and then looked back at Stan, who was taking off his gloves and pressing them into his purse. 

"Did you just throw a doorknob into my inter-dimmensional space portal." he said, more a statement then a question.

"Yeah. I didn't know what to do with it." Stan strutted over to Kyle, who was pressing the door to the ship closed as someone, presumably Kenny, banged on it. Kyle was yelling at him that he couldn't just come outside in only his boxers, especially if said boxers had "The Goods" written on the crotch. Stan slung the purse around Kyle's shoulder, and said cheerfully, "Hold this."

"What do you mean, hold this? I'm not a coat hanger, and I'm a little busy right now!" Kyle spat at him, punctuated by a bark of laughter from inside the Bronco. Stan merely kissed his cheek, saying thank you, and trotted back over to where Clyde was prodding at the ship with several metal devices. Scaling the ladder to get up to Butters's face, Stan said, "Hi, Butters. It's Stan."

Butters turned his head in his direction. "Oh, Stan, the captain, right? You're not sore at me for crashing into your ship, are you?"

"No, man, you're fine. This thing was a wreck before you crashed into it. Speaking of, how did you crash into the Bronco anyway?" Stan asked, gently, trying to sound as friendly as possible. 

Butters bit his lip, and shifted uncomfortably, making Clyde stop prodding at his wing so he could get comfortable. "Um, I was just flying around, like usual, and since your ship didn't have any lights on or anything, I thought it was just a spot of dark matter or something-"

"Wait, you can just cruise through dark matter like its nothing?" Clyde cut in, looking at Butters alarmingly. 

"Yeah. It's really not that big of a deal. Anyway, when I'm flying, especially in space, the feathers on my wings get all flat and sharp, so especially if I'm flying fast for a while, it gets easy to. Y'know. Rip through a junker ship." Butters finished off. Stan was surprised that he talked about flying through clouds of dark like it was nothing, but then again, maybe it was normal for his species. 

"Okay. Would it be okay if I touched the feathers on your wings?" Stan felt like he was talking to a child, and he very well could be, seeing as none of them knew anything about who he was and where he came from. He knew that ages varied in space, that a million years to one creature was a month to another, so Butters could be considered a baby by his family and still be thousands of years older than Stan. He didn't even try to ask his age, seeing as most creatures were not very comfortable with telling humans how long they'd lived before they did.

"That'd be fine, Stan. Thank you for helping me out." Butters smiled, and his whole body shimmered with a green glow. Clyde yelped and covered his eyes in protest, and Butters hurriedly apologized, dimming down considerably. Stan touched the ruffled feathers where wing met ship, biting his bottom lip. 

"I hope you two aren't hurting Butters up there, because we have formed a most wild companionship!" a voice yelled from below, and Stan looked down to see Kenny, still covered in blood, but thankfully wearing pants and an old shirt that said "Sexy Widdle Baby" in pink letters. Next to him stood Kyle, who Stan was pleased to see fiddling with the purple straps of his purse with mild interest. For some odd reason, Stan felt like something was lifting off his chest; he felt protected and safe, now that his whole family was here.

Clyde narrowed his eyes and glanced down at the two, leaning over and whispering to Stan, "Do you know the yellow one? Why does his shirt say that?"

Before Stan could answer, Butters jumped in. "Oh, if you're talking about the one with the clear voice, that one's Kenny! She's with us-um, or rather them, she's the pilot on the ship." Butters looked very satisfied that he knew a small amount of information on the pilot, and was able to share it to help others. Stan yelled down at Kenny, "Oh, is today a she day?" 

"I'm really chill with anything today, dude, but thanks for asking," Kenny replied, and Stan could tell he really was pleased that he had asked. Kyle was always fairly good about Kenny's fluid gender, but he knew that other people definitely weren't. 

"Okay, back to business. Clyde, dude, I think the best decision would just to be to saw around his wing. We can't pull it out, because that'll just hurt Butters, and I don't think I could forgive myself if I hurt Butters-"

"See, that's your problem, Original Marsh - you're too nice to people." Craig was yawning as he said that, and was curled up on the ground, looking like an actual house cat, and Stan wasn't quite sure if he was being serious or doing this for ironic purposes. "You need to start doing meaner things, or you're just going to be a buff marshmallow all your life. If it were me, I would just cut off Butters wing. Just like that."

"I'm gonna kick your ass, Tucker! It's too early in the morning for this shit!" yelled Kyle in warning. Stan cursed under his breath. He loved Kyle, and respected everything that he did, but the last thing he wanted on their hands was a fight, especially between a deadly satyr and a jaguar man. He was sure that Kyle would win and kick Craig's ass to the next galaxy, but that might mean the Clyde would get pissed and overcharge them, and Craig might eat Stan if heavily provoked. 

Clyde poked Stan's shoulder. "It is kind of a weak idea, like, personally I was thinking in Craig's way, but hey, it's your ship, man. Would you rather damage the ship or the bird man?" 

"Hey, it's not cool to assume someone's gender, red dude," said Kenny very seriously from down below. "Why don't you ask Butters what gender he is?" 

"Um. Okay." Clyde coughed and polished his metal tools on his shirt. "Butters, what gender are you?" 

"What's a gender?" 

"Clyde, can you please hurry it up? This is getting boring." Stan rubbed his temples, gritting his teeth. He was going to go down there and fight Craig himself if Kyle didn't do it first. 

"Alright, Stan. Can you help me out?" Clyde asked, handing him a saw. Stan immediately started working, sawing carefully around the wing on his side. He could feel Butters tense up, so he said, "Dude, if you feel anything touching your wing, just tell us, okay?" but that didn't even faze him. Stan continued to work, eventually tuning out everything going down below him. It was very difficult to saw through the blood that glued his wing to the ship, and even more difficult to saw through the other layer of blood on the ceiling of the Bronco. Clyde seemed to have no issue with it whatsoever, and was done sawing through the left side of Butters wing before Stan was even halfway through, whistling through his teeth. He kept his fingers on Butters's wing so they could move accordingly so Stan had zero chance of hurting him whatsoever. 

Slamming down his saw, Stan laughed triumphantly. "Yes! I did it! Butters, can you move your wing now?" 

"Is Kyle beating up the jaguar guy or just thwacking a tree trunk?" 

Stan blinked, and turned around to see exactly what he thought would happen. Kyle was beating the holy hell out of Craig, sitting on top of him and pounding his fists on his face and snout, wires flicking and sparking everywhere. Kenny stood a few feet away, chanting Kyle's name, and Clyde was trying to tug Kyle off, but Craig was clawing and scratching at Kyle so furiously that he couldn't get a proper grip. Stan's purse was slung around Kenny's shoulder. Stan took this in with a blank face.

"Do you know how this started, Butters?" 

"No, I was busy trying not to worry about my wing getting cut off." he said, honestly, no salt intended. 

"Do you think I should go down there and do something?" 

Butters tugged his wing out from the ship, shaking it in relief, a circular part of the ship still trapped on his wing like a metal bracelet, and sat down beside Stan, the ship groaning in complaint. "No, I think that we should just let them go. I haven't been here long, but it sounded like it was bound to happen sooner or later." 

And that's how Stan spent his sunrise: sitting cross-legged on the Bronco with an angel by his side, watching his spouse beat the crap out of a jaguar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay first time I'm doing end notes. there will be mentions of abuse towards butters throughout the story, usually talked about by butters himself. towards the end is where more of the abuse comes to light, but none of it is too heavy or in depth. i hate to do this to butters, and of course to any of my readers that have any trouble with abuse, but i'm trying to tie in aspects of the show with aspects of this fic, and i'm sure if any of you have watched any butters episodes you know who had/will be abusing butters (its not cartman, but still fuck that guy). if ANY of you are sensitive to mentions of abuse, please tell me, and i'll be sure to format the heavy ending accordingly so you can read without feeling sick or put off by anything. thank you!


	7. Emerald Feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im running out of color titles...  
> also i am maybe the most infrequent author ever??? i got really into gravity falls and also had busy family stuff but im probably going to have at least two updates this week.   
> clyde and craig departed abruptly because its very hard for me to write for the both of them, but they'll pop back up again i swear.   
> i wonder who's going to get together soon?? it couldn't be kenny and butters, could it??? no, that's impossible

It took roughly fifteen minutes, three people attempting to tug them apart, four punches and six scratches thrown Stan's way to stop Kyle and Craig from beating the living hell out of each other, and not even that fully stopped them. What eventually got Craig away from Kyle was a spray bottle filled with water, which Clyde and Kenny had to scramble to get from the ship. Poor Butters was fairly upset by the fighting and the blood that cascaded down Kyle's body, and silver tears were streaming from under his wings, so Kenny had to sit up there and attempt to comfort him, even though Butters could barely see him because he refused to uncover his eyes. Clyde refused to stop squirting Craig with the spray bottle until he apologized to Kyle, but the apology was more of a "I hate everything, but mostly you" which almost started Kyle back up again, if Stan hadn't slung him over his shoulder. Clyde actually gave the crew several apologies, and discounts, and told them they didn't have to pay for getting Butters out, and frantically tried to instruct Stan on resealing the ship until he eventually took pity and told them to leave.

The very first truly silent point in that morning was spent sitting up with Kenny, Kyle and Butters (whose tears burned like acid on Stan's skin only for the first few seconds). Kyle was still bleeding, blood dripping mostly from his mouth and arms, where he was scratched the most. He was sitting his hands under his thighs, looking very soft and flickering in the early morning light, and Stan didn't know whether to yell at him or kiss him, but he was thinking of doing both at the same time. Kenny was gingerly stroking Butters's wing, his split lip bleeding purple, and Butters was looking like less and less of a mess as the hours went by. He was healing considerably well, and the tears were starting to slow. The four of them just sat on the ship, looking out on the slowly illuminated town. If Stan listened hard enough, he could still hear Majora's olden human box playing cheery undersea songs. 

"Well," Stan started. "Now what?"

Kenny clasped his hands. "I think its fair to say that Kyle screwed up majorly. Not all of this occurrence was his fault, and not all of it was out of his control. But he still was a jackass - a sleep deprived jackass, sure, but still a jackass - because he beat up the guy who helped fix up our ship, made Butters cry - his tears are like acid, by the by, so he could have soaked through the ship and to the wires below, but whatever - and now the strap of Stan's purse is broken."

"My purse is broken?" Stan said frantically, and Butters took it and passed it to him. The strap was ripped apart, frays of fabric coming out from the inside. Stan felt his heart sink considerably, a forlorn look on his face. He could see Kyle flinch beside him.

"His purse is broken." Kenny leaned forward to get eyes on Kyle, and he was obviously not angry, or even marginally upset. But you could tell that Kenny had had a long morning, and now had a black eye and scratch down his thigh, and his favorite shirt was torn at the seams. "Kyle, you are one of my favorite people in the whole of the Universe, and I mean that genuinely, but we really need you to get your head out of your ass for five seconds."

Kyle let out a breathy laugh, much to Stan's surprise. "I can't believe you're telling me to do that. I really should get my head out of my ass."

"I get that you're tired, man - we all are- and you've made a few semi - rational decisions this morning, but goddamn. Fifteen minutes and a spray bottle was what it took to get you out of your temper tantrum." Kenny said solemnly, a sliver of a grin cracking through his face.

"It wasn't a temper tantrum! I had full right to plow down his ass!"

Stan snorted. "That sounded a little weird, but okay, man, whatever you say. You beat his ass to the ground."

"He took it right in the ass." Kenny offered. 

Kyle smacked Stan in the arm, snickering, and then grabbed his hand, fiddling quietly around with his fingers. Butters was still just sitting there, staring at the cobblestone road filling with smoke beings and fish people. Stan couldn't help but feel worried for him; he must've been pretty sensitive to cry when people fought, especially someone who tried to cut off his wing an hour earlier.

Butters spoke abruptly, cutting through the silence. "Hey, Kyle, I could fix you up, if you'd like. I always carry around medical supplies, and I'm sure I have some stuff that you could use."

Kyle practically lit up, looking at Butters like he was his savior. "What, seriously? Dude, thank you so much, that means a lot! We don't have any med supplies and whatever and - do you need us to pay you?"

Butters laughed, wings fluttering a long with him. "No, no, that's not necessary! You guys have already been so nice to me, letting me live, Stan cutting my wing out, Kenny chatting with me. Think of it as my gift to you."

"You're an angel," said Kenny seriously, looking at him, and Butters giggled and started to glow a feverish green. 

"I just need to turn into my human form, if you don't mind," Butters said as he leapt down from the wing of the ship, stumbling slightly on the ground. Standing tall in all his glory, Butters shook his feathers around and cracked his neck, muttering about how it had been so long since he had taken up his human form. "It's gonna be real bright, so you guys should cover your eyes or something!" he added, which everyone then did except for Kyle, whose eyes could withstand most bright things. Stan whispered to Kyle to tell him what it looked like, and Kyle nodded faintly.

Even from behind his hands, Stan could see a light similar to an explosion, fanning between even the slightest cracks in his fingers. He tried to listen out for anything Kyle might say, an intake of breath or a squeeze of his hand, but he got nothing. No noise accompanied the sudden flash of light except for a small hum that was nearly inaudible. Then, Butters called out, "Okay, you guys can uncover your eyes now."

Kenny was down there faster then Stan had ever seen him move, asking Butters if his arm was alright and surveying him. Kyle groaned and rubbed at his face, muttering, "He's blocking the view, we're gonna have to go down there to see him." He hissed under his breath as he stood up, grasping at his knees, then yelping as he felt a cut open back up. 

"Wait, here, I got you, dude," Stan said, then swooped Kyle into his arms bridal style. To his surprise, Kyle didn't complain, and actually laughed and put his arms around his neck, cold blood hitting the back of his shirt. He managed to get off the wing of the ship carefully, biting the straps of his broken purse as he navigated downward. Landing on the ground, he almost fell forward, making Kyle claw at his back violently, screaming in his ear to be careful, but he steadied himself enough to laugh and place Kyle down on the ground. He huffed and brushed himself off, pretending to be embarrassed, but Stan could tell he was pleased.

Walking over, Stan could now see Butters more clearly. A short little thing, Butters had a tuft of blond hair that swept slightly into green eyes, yellow where the whites should be. Teal markings that were exactly like his own wings swept along his face and arms like tattoos, and his ears were like wings, as well, fluttering slightly as he stared at Kenny with what seemed to be a mix of adoration and awe. His outfit was a mixture of old man aesthetic and aspiring adventurer, a large, faded brown jacket that was rolled up at the sleeves but just seemed to keep drooping down, and a silver skirt draped around his middle. His shoes were the most bizarre of all, though - they looked brand new, met just at his knees with laces crawling up, but they were bright green, alarmingly so. But Stan was currently rocking the dad look, and had been for around a hundred years of his life, so he had zero right to judge. Kenny was holding up his left arm and looking at it, wiggling it occasionally, saying again and again to Butters, "Are you SURE that it's not broken?"

Butters eventually glanced over and saw Kyle and Stan, a grin lighting up his face. "Oh, wow! You guys are so - wow!" Skittering over to them, he pressed his hands to his chest and looked over them both excitedly. "Stan, you're buff! And hairy! Both good things! And Kyle, you're so pretty!"

"Thanks, man. You're not too shabby yourself." Kyle buried his face in Stan's arm, something he did when he was embarrassed, and Stan nodded in agreement and slung an arm around Kyle's shoulder.

Kenny beamed down at him, placing his hands on his hips. "I agree with Red here, dude, you are ADORABLE! Why didn't you tell anybody??"

"Well, I - gosh." Butters turned green again, hiding his face in the collar of his jacket. "I dunno. I just didn't want to get your hopes up if I wasn't very nice looking. You guys just keep giving me compliments, and I have no idea what to do with them."

"They're all true," Stan said, smiling. "We wouldn't say them if they weren't true. We're kind of all assholes here."

"Oh -!" Snapping his fingers, he looked at Stan. "Where's the other one?"

Kyle jerked his head up. "What other one? It's just us."

Butters furrowed his eyebrows, confused. "The one who went to the back of the ship. He said he was going to check out the cargo bay and that he was apart of the crew. I just - assumed that he was -" but Kyle had already sprinted off, running towards the back of the ship like he was on a hunt, Stan following close behind.

"Did I say something wrong?" asked Butters timidly, and Kenny patted his back, watching Stan fumble on the ground, slippers not being the best to run in. 

"Not your fault in the slightest, dude. You didn't know." Kenny sighed, leafing a hand through his hair. "I think we have ourselves a Vagabond."


	8. Black Eye-Paint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate Cartman with a passion that burns inside of my fiery soul, but i'm still going to write for him purely to make him look like a fool. don't worry, anybody who likes cartman, he's still going to be prominent. but hopefully not as prominent as, say, lady nibbleston.  
> ALSO! PLEASE KNOW! cartman makes a few transphobic, sexist, etc. comments, and for this i am very sorry. and i'm only writing them because his character is terrible, not because i think that way. again, I'm sorry.  
> also….i know cartman had his own profile and explained some things that happened to introduce him….and I'm going to try my best with it, but obviously somethings were changed. sorry jack….  
> you're all wonderful. over 350 reads! wow! how did i do it? all of my chapters are so short and all of my endings are so forced! i wouldn't blame you all for just being here to see me struggle. :V

Stan did not want a Vagabond. He really didn't. Because, if there was a Vagabond, it was going to set Kyle off again, and Kyle's body and protective wires hadn't even begun working on slowly healing the bloody scratches that crawled down his form. Stan was sprinting after Kyle, who was making his way around the ship, hissing out curse words because he could not stop tripping over the crooked cobblestones, those stupid cobblestones, who needs paths anyway, everyone should frolic around naked in the grass. He reached the back of the ship much more quickly then Stan did, scampering to tug open the sliding metal door like he was on goat steroids. 

"Why do you just want to fight everything this morning? First it was the cat man, and now this possibly misunderstood person who snuck onto our ship." Stan said this as a joke, but it made Kyle whip around and glare at him.

"You're a goddamn pacifist, Stan, I like to think I do all the proper fighting to make up for what you don't do," he practically snarled at him, and then went back to trying to reach the handle to open the ship, screaming in frustration when he couldn't do so. Even though he was awfully hurt by his comment - he really just wanted everybody to have a chance before they immediately went to fight them - he continued to walk toward Kyle in his effort to calm him and prevent more harm from arriving to him, as it surely would.

"Kyle, just think about this for a second," persisted Stan, holding onto his spouses's shoulders, but Kyle reeled backwards and slammed his mostly-metal fist into Stan's hand, causing him to cry out in surprise. He examined his hand, and was aggravated to see not only did Kyle's fist break skin, he might have fractured it slightly. Kyle was staring up at Stan like he couldn't believe what he just did, and his wires glowed and sparked with a desperate blue.

"Stan! Oh, God, honey, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!" Kyle held onto his hurt hand much more delicately, and was really looking as though he might cry, the bags under his eyes looking much more visible right now more than ever. It was such an abrupt change of emotions that Stan couldn't help but laugh, which Kyle ignored as he smothered him in more apologies. "I'm just so tired - Christ, what kind of excuse is that - it was instinct, honey, Stan, baby, I'm so sorry, I would NEVER hurt you, I promise, it was just -"

"Kyle, Jesus. Calm down. I'm not pissed." he kissed his forehead, he just couldn't help it, Kyle never let himself be vulnerable in front of Stan, and he loved that he was getting this chance right now. Kyle still looked desperate, and continued to apologize until a clattering arose from inside the back of the ship, and he completely froze.

"Dude," was all Stan got out before Kyle ricocheted off the wall in order to reach the handle of the door, tugging it open furiously, somehow, by swinging side to side extremely quickly, which would have been funny under different circumstances. After the door had slid all the way, he sprinted in there as fast as he possibly could, screaming around for the person to show themselves. The entire cabin was completely dark, not a single person in sight, but Kyle continued to pull off the covers of the cargo to try and find this Vagabond. 

"What is the horny goat man up to now?" Kenny suddenly materialized next to him, with a curious looking Butters by his side. The sleeve of his "Baby Boy" shirt was hanging off it's seams, and his cut lip continued to drip purple blood down his chin like a bad goatee, and yet he still managed to look nonchalant. "Ah, yes. His daily rounds of Freaking the Hell Out in the early morning hours."

"God, dude, your unnecessary sass is choking us all." Stan thwacked his shoulder, stupidly, with his injured hand, and hissed as he shook it in an effort to lessen the pain. "Are you sure you saw someone go into our ship?" He directed this question at Butters, who straightened up as if he was waiting for orders.

"I sure am! He said that he was going to inspect the cargo, make sure everything was in the right order to be delivered and such. He was breathing kinda hard, like he had been running, but I figured that he was just late or some-" Stopping mid sentence, Butters cocked his head at Kyle. "What's he doing?"

"Um. Looking for the Vagabond." replied Stan, a little confused. 

Butters pointed to a folding of blankets and coverings of cargo in a far corner. "He's right in there, under all those blankets and stuff."

Stan blinked, and stared at him. He wasn't quite sure how he knew that; Kenny was usually fairly good at sensing heartbeats of other beings that were around, and he hadn't said anything about it the whole time. Nevertheless, Stan strutted over to the far corner, and tugged off the covers to see what was underneath. "Well, I'll be damned."

There was, in fact, someone under there, and Stan was unsure as to how someone that large was able to squeeze himself into a box made for carrying a lamp. The man was outfitted in almost all red, save for some brown shoes and a shiny leather belt. His hood folded around his face and seemed to create a shadow under his eyes, even though there was no light to speak of. He was looking up at Stan with panic in his brown eyes, and the folds of his cloak were wrapped around his body, legs bent into uncomfortable positions and arms squeezed underneath him. He looked absolutely pathetic, and terrified, and Stan took pity on him for about five seconds until he said, "It's really not my fault that I snuck in. If anything, it's your fault, you and your crew must be a bunch of lazy bastards if you leave your cargo door unlocked like that. Your angel's a moron, by the way, good luck babysitting him."

Turning to Kyle, he yelled, "We found the Vagabond!" and Kyle almost galloped over, holding a large, blunt stick, and Stan thought about making him put it down, until the man added, "Oh, are you calling over your little crew mates to try and deal with me? I know you must be pretty scared that I'm a wizard and all, but God, that's pathetic."

Kenny walked over and leaned over the box, an easygoing smile on his freckled face. "Hey, man. Do you need a place to stay or something?" The (so called) wizard did not answer him, and instead proceeded to wriggle around the box, looking more embarrassed and irritated as his efforts proceeded to fail again and again. Kyle looked at him as well, and lowered the stick when he saw the man's nonthreatening position.

"Why did you come on our ship?" said Kyle calmly, getting right to business. Chances were, this guy was a failed business man or something, and he crashed here because no inn would him. Stan was already thinking about where the guy might sleep if he needed a ride to the next galaxy. Butters might have to share their spare bed, and Stan felt a stab of pity for this hypothetical situation. 

The man snorted. "I was just hoping I'd find some worthwhile junk in here. Not sure why I even tried, this place is obviously a dump."

"He came in here because there are some guys coming after him in the gang he's in," Butters cut in. "He was sure they'd never find him in here, and now he's scared that you guys are gonna turn him in."

The man shifted around with even more discomfort than before, yelping out, "Who told you that?! N-none of that's true, whoever you are, you're just making it up!"

Kenny laughed, patting Butters's shoulder. "Caught up with the wrong gang, are you? I can definitely help with that, and so can Kyle. We both have a few connections that can assist you."

"Oh, I bet you were. You seem like the kind of white trash to get caught up in that kind of thing." A look of confusion passed over Kenny's face, mouthing the foreign words, until Kyle groaned loudly. "Oh, boy. You're from Earth, aren't you. I hear they still use old racist and sexist words like that around there. Listen, just keep quiet and cooperate, maybe then you'll-"

"I don't need any of your help!" Finally breaking out of the box, he got up and shoved Stan out of the way, turning to survey the crew. A smile crawled over his face. "Wow. I really do not need guys help, at all." He pointed at Butters. "What are you even supposed to be, a chick or a dude? Make up your mind already, blondie."

The smile dropped from Kenny's face, and he muttered dryly, "Great. He's definitely from Earth, and he's definitely terrible. The best combination." Butters looked very confused, and glanced over his human body as if he could not fathom what the Vagabond was talking about. "Excuse me, Cartman, I know you're used to - whatever you humans think the "gender binary" is. But my species doesn't apply to that."

"Are you reading my mind? Christ, don't do that, it's creepy. If you're going to call me anything, at least let it be the Grand Wizard. Or just Your Highness."

"It's not my fault your thoughts are so loud. And that's not your name at all. Everybody calls you Cartman." Stan couldn't help but laugh at this. Cute little Butters was embarrassing the hell out of this fraud, and anybody could see that from the way Cartman shifted uncomfortably, trying to keep up his 'cool' facade. Even Kyle was snickering a bit, still gripping the blunt piece of wood. 

Knowing he wasn't going to currently get anywhere by attempting to ridicule Butters, he turned to Kenny. "You say you can help me with my gang? Please, you have no idea what kind of group I was involved with. It'd make you piss yourself if you saw the kind of things we were getting into." Pressing a finger to one of Kenny's purple face swirls, he sneered, "What are these, anyway? Tattoos? That's pretty pathetic."

Faster than Stan had seen him move in a while, Kenny snatched Cartman's wrist and yanked it away from his finger, twisting it around. His face was almost completely blank, his purple markings glowing visibly from under his shirt. "Don't touch me. Don't touch any of us. Ever." Cartman's face was going pink, looking ready to call Uncle, Kenny's hand almost snapping his wrist. He eventually let go, and Cartman backed up considerably, making the obvious decision to switch tactics. Before he could, Stan placed a firm hand on his shoulder, smiling forcibly. "Look, dude. We really don't want any trouble. Do you need to get anywhere? We're going to drive Butters some place, maybe, and you could hitch a ride with us."

Cartman shrugged off his shoulder, looking up at Stan with disgust. "Uh, yeah, okay. I'm starting to see what kind of ship this is, and I don't want to be riding with a ragtag group of fa-" He didn't even get to finish his sentence before Kyle had thrown himself onto him, tackling him down, and proceeded to pound his fists into his face. Stan felt absolutely zero remorse for Cartman, and just let Kyle beat the living daylights of this fatso to at least exert the last of his morning rage. Kenny laughed and said "Go get 'em, you precious twink," encouragingly, and Butters even let himself smile. Cartman was barely putting up a fight, batting at him feebly and screaming at him to get off, doesn't this redhead demon goat know how powerful wizards are. After a few minutes of fairly not - messy fighting, just enough to maim Cartman's face, Kyle got up, dragged himself over to where the large stick was, lifted Cartman's head up by his hair, and thwacked the back of his head, knocking him out cold. 

Butters clapped for the exhausted Kyle, bouncing up and down. "That was your second fight today! And this one actually deserved it! Go Kyle!" Kyle, breathing heavy, smiled wearily at Butters, and then looked up at Stan. "What should we do with him now?"

Stan glanced down at the bruised, unconscious Cartman, and scoffed. "Let's deliver this scumbag to Wendy. She'll know what to do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: wow this chapter.... I'm really sorry if its bad. I worked really hard on it and I think there are some parts that are good but just.... Idk. I'll do better next time


	9. Maroon Freckles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey.....im back. holy filler chapter batman! and a weak ending! who is cartman? is butters really as cute as he seems? and who is the bronco REALLY? find out next chapter in a million years maybe  
>   
> I'm always so crazy desperate and curious to see who else is reading this mess. I'm still surprised that jackinforthelord reads this. And now I'm just over 500 reads! Holy crap! Thank you all so much?? Just, wow. Thank you.

Butters could read minds and change into a being of pure energy, and yet he struggled with the very concept of tying knots. His little fingers fumbled with the rope he was attempting to wrap around Cartman, and one could only feel terrible, because he kept desperately looking at the crew as if to say, 'No, wait. I can do this. I swear to God I can do this. I've been in this human form less than an hour and could barely walk for a good six minutes, but I can do this.' Kenny just stood back and let him do it, cradling his chin in his hands, but Stan eventually broke first, gently pushing an embarrassed Butters away from his failed project. He couldn't blame Butters, though; blood slicked the already scratchy rope, and he was having a hard time not cussing heavily as he twisted and turned the ropes.

Kyle was looking worse and worse as the day went along. His cuts were starting to reopen, blood splattering his body like it was mocking the natural marks that already decorated it, and the bags under his eyes seemed to get deeper by the minute. His head was lolling on his shoulder, and he was staring at his fists, eyes beginning to fuzz and static over, always a bad sign for the other Mr. Marsh. Stan wanted to hold his hand, maybe suggest that they take a nap together, but it was voted silently and unanimously that Stan would carry and/or drag Cartman onto to the Bronco, with no help from anyone, as they closed the door of the ship on him. 

Carefully draping the unconscious, tied and bound Cartman next to the ship, Stan dragged his hand down his face with a heavy sigh. The gray - tinted sun was embracing half of the buildings in front of him, shop keepers sliding out of their homes to drag themselves into their little shacks. If he listened hard enough, he swore he could hear Majora cursing out their little broken box as it spat out static songs about the sea. Smoke was shying away from the rare sliver of light, curling around Stan's legs and behind rickety buildings. From this angle, as Stan was sitting down next to a comatose space wizard, he felt like he could see what a beautiful place this once was. 

Stan cradled his aching hand, and his mind wandered, as it always did, right back to Kyle. The fuzz and the static in his partner's eyes scared him, thinking of the many ways that this one morning could drive him off the deep end. He knew that he was going to blame everything on himself. Kyle's mind was turning over the possibilities, the blood shed, the people HE hurt, and God, oh God, that look he gave Stan when he hit his hand, the way his hands reached towards him, desperately - he never wanted Kyle to look at him like that again. Kyle would flicker back and forth between Craig, and blood splattering his fists, and Butters, and gold on his eyelids, and he'd shut down, he'd LITERALLY shut down, clutching at his curls and curling into a ball, teeth gnawing at his lip, wires flaring and sobbing, gasping for air until someone could calm him out of it, or knock him out. Stan just wanted him to be happy; he did, he really did, but now it just felt like he was encouraging Kyle's seemingly inevitable descent. 

He didn't quite realize he was crying until his breathing was chopped by great heaving sobs. Covering his mouth, he stared down at his red slippers, wondering why after everything that happened in the last three hours he decided to cry now, looking at a pretty sunrise against a smoky waterworld, but now he couldn't seem to stop. He kept frantically attempting to scrub his eyes free of tears, even laughing a little bit, because why the hell is he crying? He wasn't the one that got plunged through an old junker ship or beaten up by a jaguar, and Stan continued to laugh and cry at the same time.

"Why are you out here crying, on such a beautiful morning? I know your boyfriend is a sad robot, but that doesn't mean you have to be too."

Stan spun around and wiped his nose frantically. Kenny stood there, tongue trailing over his split lip. The blonde had mastered the look of monotony, even with his crazy aviator goggles on. He wasn't fazed by the snot and tears streaming down Stan's face, he just sat next to him and lets him attempt to pull himself together. Apologies tumbled out of his mouth, and Kenny didn't say a word, just continued to sit and let him blubber. Kenny was one of the only people he knew who was able to say nothing at all while somehow compelling anybody to spill their entire life stories, and Stan was just about to do that, really.

"I'm sorry," Stan said.

"Shut up, Stan." Kenny said.

Stan sputtered out laughing in spite of himself. Kenny broke out in a smile, shaking his head, purple swirls moving with his dimples, smacking his hand on Stan's back. "You are so strange, Marsh. I'm trying to drive this beauty of a ship, trying to do the best at my job, and suddenly you and your spouse become the Badasses of Space - rather, should I say, Space Cowboys - and I had to make Kyle chill, and now I'm trying to make YOU chill, and I'm trying to romance a blond, gold blooded bird guy AT THE SAME TIME as I'm playing babysitter!"

"This does seem like a bit of deja vu." Stan replied, pressing his cheeks into his hands. "Are you really trying to romance Butters?"

"Um. He has wings for ears. Yes, I am trying to romance Butters."

"When did you make this decision?"

"'Bout an hour ago. I figure if you two lovebirds get to mash your faces together, I could at least try to befriend and/or love a telepathic being of pure energy."

Stan sat straight up. "Kyle. Oh my God. Is he okay? Is he freaking out? On a scale of one to ten, is it a ten?"

Leaning back, Kenny took his sweet time to answer, getting Stan more antsy then he felt he could ever possibly be. "I know I shouldn't have, but I just let him sleep." Hr shook his head, subconsciously scolding himself. "That robot satyr doesn't deserve a wink of sleep for angering the men who fixed our ship, but I'm a goddamn softie. He was just really quiet 'n stuff, letting Butters fix him up, and so I told him to crawl into bed and sleep for an hour. I figured the ropes and stuff would keep Wizard Man occupied for a while so I didn't mention it. Hope that's cool with you, Captain."

Staring at Kenny, he let out a sigh of relief. "You are a saint. I don't know how you do it, man. You're too good and pure for this universe."

"I wouldn't say that, but, whatever. Go sleep with your boyfriend. I'm going to drive the ship over to find Wendy and dump our problems on her, while chatting up Butters, most likely." Kenny opened the door gallantly for him, and Stan granted him a small smile before dragging Cartman back inside. He didn't even register his exhaustion until that moment, and he only blinked tiredly at Butters when he waved enthusiastically. Dropping off his load of Fat Wizard, he made his way to his room, hearing Kyle's gentle puffing snores from inside, and flopped on the bed, draping his arms around Kyle's waist. Immeadietly, Kyle curved his way into Stan's arms, pressing his back into his chest, and as usual, Kyle's radiator - like body made Stan have no problem getting comfortable, burying his face in the crook of Kyle's neck. Although they sure as hell were not in the best of places, and they were going to have to confront Wendy with their problems when they awoke, Stan felt like this was exactly where he needed to be.


	10. Violet To Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> itttttts 2 am  
> the title might not make sense bbbbbut it sounded cool in my head so  
> hey im back! i feel a little better and i think ill be able to push myself into a regular schedule soon. maybe once a week or smth. Also happy belated (or early?) birthday jackinforthelord!! you've been a crazy big inspiration for me, and i know you've been sick in these past few weeks, and i hope you feel better! thank you so much for being so good and patient to this Lonely Gay!  
> warning: cartman is here and he's gross and says gross things, and for this i apologize  
> Edit: 700 reads....my dudes.....  
> 

Stan's dreams aren't usually in color, but this one is like a punch in the face with the number of vibrant hues.

He was floating; he wasn't sure why, or how he could feel that he was floating. But he was. Everything around him was swirling, light purple and dark maroon wisps curving around his ankles, and he was blinking, slowly, slowly. He realized, after a minute, that slipping out of his fingers was a beer bottle, and that maybe not only was he floating, he was also drunk. He'd been off the bottle for about six months or so, and he hated that this feeling was invading his dreams, and hated that he couldn't feel Kyle's furry little arms wrapped around his chest, until he realized that no, you don't really hold bottles like that, not like how Stan was holding it. Stan was holding the beer bottle like a weapon, and although everything else was numb, he could feel his knuckles tightening around the bottle itself, like he was ready to strike.

After having this train of thought race through his mind, Stan realized this probably wasn't a dream. He considered the thought of sleep paralysis, maybe, but he twitched his feet a bit, so that was taken out of consideration. His fingers started wiggling a little, too, and the beer bottle slowly slipped out of his hands, the colors swallowing it whole. He tried to say something - probably something stupid, like 'why the hell is my pants leg torn halfway up my ass?' - but his throat had closed up, as he was suddenly staring at this unfathomable being that had appeared in front of him, larger than seemingly the atmosphere itself. 

It seemed to have multiple eyes, all glowing a bright blue, and twisting tentacles that wiggled and wrapped around things as if they had a mind of their own, and hidden in the curves of those tentacles was something glowing, something that was dripping onto the rest of the beings body. A liquid substance was dripping out of it's multiple glowing eyes, looking like black, sticky oil, and Stan faintly realized that this creature was crying. 

Everything started fuzzing over in a haze of glitching purple, and the last thing that passed through Stan's mind was 'that seems like a waste of perfectly good oil' before he blipped out of existence. 

At least that's what he thought happened, now he couldn't quite tell because his eyes were wide open, and he was breathing hard, hard and rough, one hand clutching at his chest and another scrabbling at the sheets below him. Kyle - sweet, wonderful, soft goat boy Kyle - was shaking him, panicked. The pressure from his hands was making his arm hair stand straight up, and occasionally static shocks would pinprick his nerves. After a few seconds of this happening, Stan's breaths soon became garbled words of "Kyle, Kyle please stop, Kyle, please" until his spouse finally heard him and ceased the frantic grabbing. Stan took a few seconds to breathe in and out, deeply, letting go at the fabric that he clutched in his fingers. 

"Where am I," he gasped out. He just wanted to make sure. He just wanted to be safe.

"On the Bronco. Your name is Stan Marsh. This morning, an ethereal bird crashed wing - first into our ship. We're delivering a Vagabond to Wendy on Plant Douleur right now. We took a nap." Kyle relayed all of this quietly, in an authoritative voice that Stan forgot he had.

"Are you alright?" he whispered. Stan took a minute to look at him, his hair all frazzled and his eyes darting from place to place. His face was so pale that his freckles were even more visible, and he could even see the ones that faintly dotted his forehead.

"Yeah, um," Stan managed out, sitting up slowly. Kyle's hand immediately went to his chest and back, then shot away from him, and Stan couldn't help but let out a beaten down laugh. Kyle never did fully figure out how to comfort humans, and it was cute that he insisted on trying so hard. "Yeah, dude, I'm okay now."

"What kind of nightmare?" his spouse asked, pressing his fingers on his arm. 

"Not a nightmare. Just a really weird dream."

"What happened in the dream? Did I die? Were you dying?"

"No, you - you actually weren't there."

Kyle looked affronted. "I wasn't?" 

"No, dude. It was more, like. It was just me, and I was somewhere that I'm not totally sure existed, and there was this huge THING." He rubbed at his unshaven face, faint stubble scratching at his fingers. "I don't know how to describe it."

"At least try. I want to help."

"I can't describe it, that's what I'm trying to say! It was huge, and purple, like way too goddamn purple, it was - I don't even know. It broke the dream."

"It broke the dream?"

"I know, I know, it sounds stupid. I'm sorry, I'm really - I'm really trying."

Kyle pressed his cheek on his shoulder, wrapping an arm halfway around his waist. Stan expected him to say something, too, about how he was trying as well, but he didn't. He just held onto him, rocking Stan slightly, like he was a small child in need of consonance.

"You know I'm okay, right?" Stan whispered.

"I know. You're always okay, and that's dumb."

They sat there, for a moment, quiet, until a loud, sick thud was heard on the other side of the door, making them remember they had a crew to tend to, and also a Vagabond who might still be tied up on their old, broken down ship with a confused bird man and a possibly infuriated purple person.

After the next loud thump, Stan shifted, getting up and stretching a bit. "I should probably start dealing with whatever is accumulating over yonder." He glanced at Kyle, who was sitting on the same place on the tiny bed, looking distant, and furrowed his dark eyebrows. "You coming out soon?"

Kyle whispered out a faint 'yeah', which didn't convince Stan in the slightest. "I'm just going to make sure Kenny is doing okay with both Butters and the other wizard guy. Tug them apart and see if they've killed each other yet. That's it."

He only nodded a little, rubbing his glowing green eyes. "'Kay. Thanks."

Stan adjusted his vest, glancing in the mirror quickly as he made his way to the door. He took one last look at Kyle, and said quietly, "Dude. You're okay."

He could see a little flicker of something spark up in those eyes, and he looked back at him, smiling a little. "I'm okay."

Nodding, he walked out, leaving the door cracked open. He was hoping to have a little time to think about Kyle, or survey the situation at hand before it got too chaotic, but he was soon literally thrown into the chaos as the tiny, but somehow very destructive body of Butters came speeding towards him. Stan crashed backwards, slamming his head on the back of the door with a startled yelp, and he could feel the nose of poor Butters collide with the door as well. He could hear the voice of the wizard man screech, "REALLY, Butters, is that the BEST you can do??"

Butters groaned, sitting up and looking woozily at the gold blood trailing down his nose, then at Stan. "The wizard made me," was all he got out.

Stan stumbled up, lifting up Butters carefully as he did so, not even flinching when yellow blood began to, yet again, trail onto his arm. The 'wizard' - Cartman, was it? - was standing there, arms folded, somehow untied from his bonds (although Stan saw he still had a few noticeable bruises around his face), not even giving Stan the time of day, instead looking at Butters with a mildly irritated look that was scrunching up his nose. "Butters," Cartman spat out. "That was pathetic. You can't break down a door like that. Use your SHOULDERS, you feathery moron."

"I'm sorry!" Butters whimpered, but Stan wasn't sure who it was directed toward; knowing Butters, it was probably just an in general apology. Leading Butters over to a stray chair near the back, Stan muttered curses under his breath, trying to formulate the exact biting response he would give this anime bastard in the weird hood. After sitting Butters down carefully, he turned back to Cartman, gritting his teeth. "How in hell did you get out of your bonds?"

Cartman didn't even so much as flinch under his glare. "Butters helped me," he said with ease.

Stan looked back at Butters, who was looking down pitifully at his fingers. "Why? What could you have said to him that would have convinced him to do that?"

To his surprise, Cartman let out a chaste laugh. "Woah, slow down there, Captain! Who ever said I was a bad guy?" He pressed a hand to his red - cloaked chest, shaking his head in mock sadness. "I'm just a poor, misunderstood loner, who was at the wrong place in the wrong time! Sure, I may have said some harsh things in the moment. But you can forgive me for all that, can't you? "

Stan frowned, placing his hands on his hips. "You implied that we were a group of space sex workers."

"Ah ah ah, I implied that you were a group of space gays who sat around trying to pick up other innocent men - but that's besides the point!" He said, catching himself before he said what he was really thinking. "I was scared, I was lonely, this was some place safe. Anybody in my place would have done the same thing."

"Okay, sure, whatever, that - where's Kenny?" Stan said suddenly, interrupting himself. He scanned the ship quickly, and then saw Kenny, asleep at the control panels, leaning back in his chair with a pillow beneath his head. "Kenny! God damn it!" Stan stumbled over there, his slippers making it difficult to navigate a way that wouldn't make him slip and die. The ship's window was dark, no planets to give off color, and only a sprinkling of stars was reflected on Kenny's sleeping face. He at first attempted to try and poke Kenny awake, but then decided that there was no time, raising his hand back and slapping it with full force across Kenny's face.

A bark of laughter slipped from Cartman's lips as Kenny jerked awake, clutching at his face and cursing under his breath. He looked up at Stan, eyes still clouded in sleep, and yelled, "What in the FUCK, Marsh?!"

Stan threw his hands into the air. "Listen! I'm sorry! I panicked! WHY ARE YOU ASLEEP AND WHY IS THE WIZARD MAN UNTIED?"

"Hell if I know! I just got slapped awake by a hot dad! Don't expect me to figure this out immediately!"

Said wizard man clasped his hands together, walking towards the two slowly, an easy smile on his face. "Now, gentleman and purple thing, I'm sure we can find a way to diplomatically solve this. Captain, if you don't mind me suggesting -"

"I DO mind you suggesting, actually, KYLE CAN YOU PLEASE GET IN HERE?" Stan yelled towards the door of his room. Kenny stood up, still rubbing his face, giving Cartman a glazed look of confusion, as if he was still trying to figure out if he was apart of the original crew or not, a look that the Wizard regarded with mild disgust. 

"Excuse me, Stan?" Butters tweeted it out, and when Stan turned almost violently towards him his ear - wings wrapped around his face, practically shrinking him into his chair. "Sorry sorry sorry."

Stan breathed out, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No. No, Butters, tell me what's up."

His wings tentatively unfurled from around his face, and you could just make out a peek of his eyes. "Well. You, Kenny 'n Kyle were all asleep for a while, there. Do we have a place we need to get going to, or...?"

Stan blinked, turning towards Kenny. "You put the ship on auto pilot, right?"

"Of course I did," he replied, looking offended. "Straight to Douleur, police central. We should be landing soon."

Stan blinked, and tried to take a moment and process what was wrong. There was something he was missing, and he pressed his fingers to his temples, trying to stop this sudden onslaught of thoughts from overtaking his head. Through all the noise in his mind, he realized that Cartman was fairly quiet, rocking back and forth on his heels and looking out the ships window. Kenny noticed this at the same time he did, and looked at the red - cloaked man strangely. "What are you looking out? There's nothing out there. It's space, dude."

"Wait. Kenny, wait," Stan sputtered out like a dying engine. He ran over to the control panels, looking at tiny screens that weren't aglow with power. "Kenny, he shut us off. The power's off, Kenny."

Purple eyes went big, and Kenny suddenly materialized at his side, gnawing at the inside of his cheek. "No, no way. There's no way he could have done that, not without someone hearing, not without SOMEthing -"

Cartman let out a very undignified giggle, and raised his arms up in a sort of desperately dramatic act. "We're stranded."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Galactic descent of the bronco. It's been such a long time.  
> As you probably know by now (by the date that this was last updated in November nearly a damn year ago, and I'm pretty sure that was for a small edit or smth?? Holy crap) this fic is dead. Officially now. I hate being that fanfic writer that leaves their readers off at such a cliff hanger, but just...I cant....finish it. I feel terrible about it! But this was written at a much different place in my life, a much tougher place, in a lot of ways. I'm not very much into south park anymore, I'm nearly two years older than I was upon writing this at first...it's been such a wild fic, and I'll always hold it close to my heart. This will always be my baby, but unfortunately, it's over.  
> I'm still around though! I'm writing an osomatsu san fic now, if you're into that, and I'm on twitter (@sunshineboiii). If youre desperate to know ideas that I had for this fic you can @ me there!  
> I'd love to thank everyone for this incredible journey that this fic had me going through. I'll never forget it. And, as always, I'd love to think jack, who is now cowboyouquet, who continues to inspire me to this day!  
> For the last time, thank you, so much, for reading. I appreciate each and every one of you more than y'all know.


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